


After you left

by The_Guilty_Saint



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:18:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Guilty_Saint/pseuds/The_Guilty_Saint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in the first person, Root examines her feelings after losing Shaw in their botched Stock Exchange operation. The story picks up after months of searching for Shaw. Will the two women meet again? If yes, will Shaw acknowledge that last kiss?</p>
            </blockquote>





	After you left

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment. Thanks.

I stood frozen in place as the elevator doors closed. I heard a foreign sound escape my chest as the first bullet slammed into Sameen. It was a wail; I sounded like a dying animal. I ran up to elevator door and held on to it. Sameen had finally kissed me. Now, she was dying. Of course Sameen had to be the martyr. She was completely reckless and selfish. She’d rather go out in a blaze of glory than allow someone else to die. Maybe it was all her years of training as a physician. Or maybe she cared more than she let on.  
As the elevator rose, I stared at the fading image of Sameen, through the meshed doors, until arms pulled me away from the door. Our team was barely a team. John was crumpled on the floor. Finch just stared at me with his sad-puppy ears. And Lionel, of all people, was holding me upright. I slammed my closed fists against Lionel’s chest until I collapsed from exhaustion. I was half-aware of being carried out of the building. Above me the ceiling lights flickered. How could this happen? It should have been me in that basement, not Sameen. I shut my eyes and drifted into more pleasant memories of Sameen.  
The first time Sameen and I met was at a hotel. In my hunt to find out more about the machine, I pretended to be Veronica Sinclair, a CIA analyst who had worked with Sameen’s deceased partner, Cole.  
That day, I opened the hotel room door and struggled to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. The photo in Sameen’s file did not prepare me for the raw beauty which poured out of her. Sameen stood at five foot, six inches, black boots giving her an additional four inches. Her black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail which made her facial features appear sharp and angry. Her mouth was in a constant pout and a permanent scowl was cemented on her face. I was giddy with excitement at the prospect of chatting with this woman. And if it was necessary, I’d enjoy torturing her as well.  
Within minutes of our meeting, I tased Sameen and bound her to a chair. To be honest, I’d bound women to chairs before, but never to torture them. After she finally came to, I made a show of plugging in the iron. Then, I perched myself on a chair’s backrest and waited for the iron to heat.  
“Did you really think the source of the numbers was Guantanamo? Some sad taxi driver rotting away in a cage somewhere? You should know torture almost never produces good information? Well, almost never.” I said to Sameen.  
Sameen just glared at me, allowing me to rant. I actually liked that in a woman. Silence. I licked my finger and tested the iron’s base. I placed it on the floor and unzipped Sameen’s jacket. All she did was scowl at me.  
“You are going to tell me the name of Akino’s contact.” I said, holding the iron to her face. I had no intentions of destroying such a beauty, but the threat of destruction could make even the toughest person more compliant.  
“One of the things they left out in my file is I enjoy this sort of thing,” Sameen said, pulling her head back, away from the iron. There was that scowl again.  
“I am so glad you said that,” I said, smiling. “I do too.”  
Suddenly, my phone alarmed. I snatched it off a nearby table and looked at the display. It showed Wilson’s men arriving at the hotel, forcing me to end my conversation with Sameen.  
“We’ll do this again, soon,” I said, grabbing up my belongings like I was preparing to flee a one night stand’s apartment. I left Sameen bound to the chair and squeezed into the adjacent room. I would have untied her, but a woman like Sameen could definitely hold her own.  
I woke up in Harold’s lair. I looked around as if I hadn’t been here before. Harold hovered over me and stared at me, concern marring his face. He held out a bottle of water which I just let dangle in the air. I refused to drink or eat. Not until I knew what happened to Sameen.  
“How are you feeling Ms. Groves?” Harold asked. “I sedated you. You slept for over ten hours.”  
“How do you think Harold am feeling Harold?” I asked, pouring enough venom into my words. What a stupid question for a genius to ask.  
“I am sorry, Ms. Groves,” He said. “But we don’t know what happened.”  
“Do you think she could still be alive?”  
“I really don’t know.”  
“Harold, do you think she knows?” I began, refusing to use past tense. Do you think she knows that I love her? I wanted to yell the words aloud. Instead, I felt hot tears running down my cheek.  
“She knows,” Harold said.  
Bear came over and curled up at my feet. He whined as if someone had told him that Sameen was shot. I ran my hands along his back and scratched behind his ear.  
“I miss her too,” I said. 

We were into our second month of searching for Sameen. We looked everywhere. John and I even acquired a great lead while we were in some hick town named Maple. The source told us that a woman with dark hair was being held in a facility. In retrospect, it wasn’t a lot to go on, but we held on to that little clue like a dog with a hambone in its mouth. John and I rushed in to save the woman, hoping that she was Sameen.  
All we encountered was a woman, a victim of Samaritan’s experiments, with a chip implanted into her head. The similarities between the woman and Sameen ended with their hair color. We looked around. We questioned the woman. She was useless.  
There were no signs of Sameen.  
“I am sorry, Root.” John said, staring at me.  
I walked off without saying a word. I didn’t even reply to Harold as he echoed John’s sentiment in my earpiece. I left the warehouse and stood in the open air. I stared at my surroundings and said a silent prayer, to God or to the machine, for Sameen’s safe return.  
Later that day, the machine sent me a message. She ordered me to stop looking for Sameen. I begged her to tell me if Sameen was alive or dead and all I got was silence. After a long pause, the machine repeated her order. “Stop… looking.” This was the first time I’d felt hatred toward the machine and even thought of her as nothing more than a machine. She couldn’t possibly understand how I felt? What I needed was some words of comfort or a hint about what happened. 

Six months later

We were still at war with Greer and his goons, and looking for ways to end Samaritan’s life. Two Gods were fighting a secret war and our team members were pawns in their bigger game. Bear still whined when I came through the door instead of Sameen. Harold continued to look at me with his sad-puppy eyes. I knew he worried about me since I’d reverted to my old methods of torturing information out of people. Lionel was trying to be a moral officer. And John was still attached to the police department, pretending to be a real police officer.  
Harold called to ask for my assistance in tracking a new number. So I cleared my schedule and made myself available. After all, I had some making up to do after I tried to kill Beth, his crush, with some neurotoxin. That was the first time Harold had shown himself to have a titanium spine. He drank the neurotoxin and almost died. As he swallowed the liquid, I knew he had already loved Beth. Not as much as he loved his previous fiancée, but close enough for him to sacrifice his life. All at once, my chest grew hot, my eyes filled with tears and I heard a ringing in my ears. There was no way I was going to let Harold destroy himself for this woman. Instead, I’d found a more sinister way to destroy their budding relationship.  
When I stepped into his lair, Harold looked at me with disdain. But I knew he was in pain because I’d set him up to receive Beth’s wrath. So what if I suggested that Beth was a fraud and her accuser was none other than Professor Whistler? I admired and cared about Harold and my role was to protect him at all cost. I should have felt bad, but I didn’t. What I did was for his good.  
Psychiatrists would swear on their degrees and years of training that psychopaths, like me, are incapable of love. And for years, that made me feel special. Now, for the first time since my teenage years, I was left with my heart shattered into a thousand pieces. I dreamt of Sameen kissing and holding me at night. Yet, in the morning I woke up in a cold, lonely bed, with my chest raw and hollowed out like a carved pumpkin.  
“Hello Ms. Groves,” Harold said, interrupting my musings.  
“Hello Harold,” I said coolly. “How may I be of assistance?”  
“It’s the new number,” Harold said and stuck a photograph of a handsome, brunette woman on his board. “Her name is Melanie Davis. Thirty five. She has recently launched a new tech startup. She writes programs to track and record children’s lives, which their parents can monitor.”  
“You are afraid that she might attract the wrong kind of attention.” I said. “Where do I come in?”  
“Well, you see Ms. Groves,” he shifted in his seat. “Your particular skills might spark her interest?”  
“My skills? You want me to torture her?”  
“Absolutely not, Ms. Groves. I want you to merely observe her. Try to get close to her. I tried hacking her computer but was unsuccessful. Maybe you can get a closer look at her system. Get copies of her blueprints and codes.”  
Harold continued to tell me of about information on the woman. He knew where Melanie would be tonight. The second he told me that her date was at a new club called ‘The Key Hole”, all the pieces fell into place. Melanie Davis and I shared an affinity for women. Maybe tonight I would have a little fun.  
“Harold,” I said, smiling. “You sound like you want me to do more than just look.”

At 10 PM, I arrived at the club. The bouncer gave me a slow once over, letting his glance slide over my entire body. He smiled and let me in. I was dressed in a fitted black dress which left little to the imagination, and pair of black high heels. I winked at him as I entered.  
I walked through the club, ignoring the women who gawped at me. The club was tastefully decorated for a varied crowd. Love seats, fountains and neon lights. There were two large bars and a smaller bar, illuminated with rainbow colored neon lights. High back chairs were placed around the bar for those who preferred to sit and spectate. To the far end, there were private booths, some of which were occupied. My guess was that Melanie would take her date into one of those booths. Any lady-lover worth her salt knew the trick of isolating your date and maintaining her attention.  
I bought a liquid cocaine and knocked it back in one massive gulp. I held onto my purse and sauntered over to a booth which I’d reserved in advance. It was next to Melanie’s booth which allowed for eavesdropping and pairing with her phone. As I walked past Melanie’s table, I stole a glance at her and her date. Melanie’s date had well-polished dark hair, parted at the middle. It cascaded down her shoulders and back. The two women looked comfortable with each other, this wasn’t their first date. Melanie’s hand was on her date’s thigh. Her date snuggled close to her, whispering in Melanie’s ear. They both laughed at the whispered joke. At that moment, Melanie’s date stopped laughing, as if she sensed my eyes on them. She looked up at me, her face beautiful, her lips full.  
She held my stare.  
I shook my head from left to right as if chasing away an apparition. I willed my eyes to stop playing tricks on me. Sameen was Melanie’s date. Sameen held my gaze and I felt something pass between us. Then, she turned away and continued laughing at whatever Melanie had said.  
“Friend of yours?” I heard over my shoulder.  
“Never saw her before,” Sameen replied.  
What the hell was Sameen doing here? I felt tears sting my eyes. I hurried off to the bathroom to compose myself. I’d spent months looking for her and chasing straws, even after the machine had warned me. Now, Sameen was here in the flesh. I could forgive her for not contacting me, but I couldn’t forgive her for being alive and not contacting any of the other team mates.  
Now, here she was. Alive and well. And on a date, with another woman.  
I dragged my mind back to the last day we spoke. It was after her cover as a sales girl was blown, and she refused to go into hiding. That day, I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I shouldn’t have asked Sameen to help acquire the code for the server room at the Stock Exchange. Sameen was arrested before she could get the information. A fact which made her more determined to help Harold, John, Lionel and me. Knowing what I knew now, I wished Sameen had walked away before our mission went to hell.  
“Hi sweetie,” I said to her. “You busy?”  
“Skip the verbal foreplay Root. Why you calling?”  
“Can’t a couple of gals take a little break from work to catch up?”  
“I have been arrested and you are fighting an AI apocalypse. So no. We don’t have time to catch up.”  
“There is no need to be rude,” I said and felt myself pouting.  
“I am not having this conversation right now,” Sameen said.  
“There is no time like the present Sameen,” I teased, “Why are you so afraid to talk about your feelings?”  
“I am a sociopath, I don’t have feelings.”  
“And I am a reformed killer for hire, we are perfect for each other. You’re gonna figure that out some day.” I believed it when I said it. I enjoyed making her uncomfortable while the others were listening.  
Sameen acted with nonchalance, but I knew she would eventually realize that we were indeed perfect for each other. Sameen made me want to be a better woman, not just for her, but for myself.  
Melanie F—ing Davis, how did she get Sameen’s attention?  
I looked at myself in the mirror. Within minutes, my face crumbled and my nose was red as if I was competing with Rudolf to deliver Christmas presents. I snatched a tissue from the dispenser, dried my tears, and blew my nose. I crumpled the tissue and threw it in the waste basket.  
I was drying my hands when the ladies’ bathroom door swung open. Sameen walked in and stood next to me, staring at me in the mirror. I held her gaze. She took a step closer to me and I turned to face her.  
“I feel like we’ve met before,” Sameen said. She brushed the back of her palm against my face and I leaned into the touch. Her hand was warm. I only realized tears were on my face when Sameen brushed them away. She leaned forward and gave me a soft kiss. I opened my mouth and she deepened the kiss, her tongue caressing mine. Her right hand snaked its way up my leg and under my dress. I heard myself moan and my knees wobbled. I didn’t know from where the strength came; I grabbed her hand before she could feel how wet I’d already gotten. I broke away from our kiss, needing to catch my breath.  
I am usually very talkative and witty, but I couldn’t string a proper sentence together. “My name is Samantha,” I said, trying to distract my libido. I craved Sameen, like a junkie looking for another fix, but not like this. Sameen didn’t recognize me. “You can call me Root.”  
“I am Jessica.” She said.  
“You look nothing like a Jessica.”  
“I think the same thing every time I look in the mirror.”  
“What about your date?”  
“She’ll wait.”  
“Do you usually keep your dates waiting while you kiss strangers in public bathrooms?”  
“I don’t know what came over me. All I know is I’d like to see you again, Root.” She licked her lips and let my name roll over her tongue as if she had never said it in irritation a thousand times before.  
She reached into my purse and put her number in my phone. She gave me a peck on the check and exited the bathroom. I stood there, holding the sink. I felt trapped in a puzzling dream.  
After a long moment, I left the club, no longer caring about tonight’s mission. I climbed into a car which I ‘borrowed’ and slumped onto the steering wheel.  
I felt warmth explode in my chest. I was happy, but I couldn’t stop crying.

Sameen and I were going to meet again.


End file.
